To Command and Collar

by Cherise Sinclair

  He rubbed his palm over his mouth, his eyes unhappy. “I did,” he said so softly she barely heard him. His voice strengthened. “But it cannot work between us. You don’t want a master. You never did and even less now, after what you’ve been through.”

  “I do.”

  “Can you be that sure, cariño?” he asked so softly.

  She started to say yes, then caught his intent look. “No,” she said honestly and blinked back the tears. “But I’ll regret it all my life if we don’t try. I want to try.” She swallowed. “Master, please.”

  He just looked at her, and his gaze filled with pain. “I…can’t. No.”

  She bowed her head, trying not to give in to tears. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry, no matter what happened.

  Master R hadn’t moved. It was up to her to get out of here. Out of his way. Out of his party and his life. Her chest had hollowed out, an aching hole where her heart had been. This was far worse than leaving him before. At least then, she’d had hope.

  She put the collar back in her bag, touching it like a tiny being that had died. Her legs didn’t cooperate when she tried to stand.

  A hand appeared in front of her face. Not Master R’s thick-boned, powerful hand. This was lean, fingernails groomed, a dark watch on the wrist. She wrapped her fingers around his palm, and the man pulled her to her feet with a graceful strength.

  Master Z. When he tucked her into his side, she leaned against him. “Don’t quit yet, little one,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Can you see she gets home, Z?” Master R asked. The smoothness and lilt had fled his voice, adding to her sorrow.

  “No, I don’t think so, Raoul.”

  She started to say she’d get herself home, but Z’s arm around her squeezed the air from her lungs.

  Master R’s face tightened, anger shadowing his eyes. “Don’t interfere in what you don’t understand, my friend,” he said, a threat hanging in the air.

  “I think I understand quite well,” Z said mildly. “Your marriage left scars. And you don’t want to be hurt again, but this little one keeps doing it. She’s finally made up her mind, but you can’t be sure and aren’t about to risk it again. Unfortunately, she can’t give you a guarantee, especially after everything she’s been through. Do I have it about right?”

  She’d hurt him when she’d left? Oh God, she really had. She’d been so stupidly focused on herself, thinking he was self-sufficient. She hadn’t looked at what she was doing to him. “I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered, wincing at the misery flickering across his face.

  “This is not the place to discuss this,” Master R said tightly. “Take her ho—”

  Z smiled faintly. “This is exactly the place. Nothing in life is guaranteed, Raoul.”

  “I know that.” Master R’s gaze dropped to her face, unyielding. Unhappy. “Kimberly, I tried living in a relationship without…being who I am. I can’t do that again. And you cannot submit to a master, not after what you’ve been through.”

  “But I did. I can.” Yet she wasn’t totally sure herself. This wouldn’t be a limited few days, and she’d already capsized on him once. Why should he trust her? How could he trust her? “Is there,” she said slowly, “a test? A shakedown cruise? Something to prove to us both that it can work?”

  She saw his spark of hope flare, then die. He smiled ruefully. “There’s no—”

  “Traditionally,” Z said casually, “a submissive is whipped when receiving her collar as a way of showing her submission, her trust in her master.”

  Whipped? Her mind went blank, and she tried to pull away from Z.

  The iron bar of his arm didn’t release. “You’ve been whipped in front of strangers, little one. Would you like to enjoy one in front of friends—given by your master?”

  Whip. A shiver ran through her, and Master R growled, his hand fisting. “Damn you. She can’t—”

  So many she can’ts coming from him. I can do anything if I want it enough. Maybe she did want it. Just as Master R had replaced her horrible nightmares of other men by making love to her, now she could replace memories of cruelty with his care. And perhaps create something for them both to fall back on. She’d never trusted him more or felt so close to him as after the fireplay scene. If he wanted her to do this, then she knew she could…and it might help her doubts as well. “Yes, please, Master R,” she whispered. “Yes.”

  Silence. “No.”

  Catch-22. If she accepted his mastery, then he had the right to say no, but if he said no, then she had no master. She bent her head. “I want the tradition if it pleases Master. I will take any pain you want to give me, take anything you do. We both need an answer.”

  Silence. Then a heavy sigh. “This master is going to kill Z.”

  Z chuckled. His arm dropped from her, and he simply walked away.

  Master R laid his hand against Kim’s face. He studied her, seeing her in the way no one else had ever done. “You would face your fears—bear pain for me—just for a chance to be together?”

  She nodded.

  He looked away, brows drawn. Thinking.

  Hope started to tap-dance over her heart. She held so, so still, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts.

  “Yes.” His expression changed. His shoulders straightened. His mouth firmed. Everything about him coalesced into the master she loved. “Then, gatita, it would please me to test your submission in front of our friends.”

  How had this happened? Raoul stared down at Kimberly, trying to batter down the hope rising inside him. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t truly submit.

  And, if she could, what would it prove? Really?

  But if she could face her worst fears for him, how could he not do as much for her?

  If she could submit to him, here, in fear and in public, he’d know that she’d work as hard as he would to make a D/s relationship succeed.

  A shiver ran through her, and he pulled her into his arms, giving her comfort. Whether she succeeded or not, he would withhold nothing. She needed to trust him, to want to please him. After so long apart, to do this now was foolish—yet neither of them could tolerate waiting. He knew that as well.

  He rested his cheek on the top of her head, inhaling her light fragrance. He’d forgotten— tried to forget—how she fit against him, how her strong arms would hold him as tightly as he held her.

  After a minute, Raoul lifted his head and motioned for Cullen. “You know where the dungeon is. Can you get the box labeled patio and set it up at the archway? Bring wrist and ankle cuffs as well.”

  “Got it, buddy.” Cullen grinned at Kimberly and tugged her hair. “Welcome home, pet. Why didn’t you come over and say hi last night?”

  She gave him a shrug, looking away, her body stiff.

  Raoul frowned. She wasn’t usually rude. She relaxed when Cullen moved away.

  Last night. Cullen would have been playing bartender at the Shadowlands all evening. “Come over and say hi.”

  Obviously, Kim had been at the club, probably with Gabi. Maybe conversing with guilty little Sally. Kim had met his family in the hospital; he’d heard them talking in the hall. It didn’t take a calculus formula to figure out the answer. But this was not the time to deal with family issues. Instead… He rubbed his cheek on her silky hair and asked, “Did you get the furry present I sent you?”

  Her laugh—how long had it been since he’d heard her soft laugh. “My Ari. He’s wonderful and…”

  Contently, Raoul held her, ignoring the conversations around them, and listened to her telling of returning to work, of the big dog, of her life. As Cullen and Nolan set up chains from the bolts in the patio cover beams, he answered her questions about Costa Rica.

  She’d missed him and tried to call him. The knowledge was far too pleasing. “I missed you, sumisita,” he admitted in return. She was being gut-wrenchingly honest and more courageous than he was. “My home is empty without you, and I couldn’t bear the silence.”

  Her arms tighte
ned around him, and he bent down and took her lips. Soft and welcoming as she molded against him, keeping nothing of herself in return. Her body was fragrant and even lusher than when she’d left. He wanted to explore, to fill his palms with her breasts.

  When he lifted his head, she made a tiny sound of protest. One a man should not make, but a man might feel. After a slow breath, he noticed Cullen had set cuffs on the table nearby.

  Time to start. One by one, he slowly fastened the cuffs on his sumisa, cherishing the way she held out an ankle, her wrist, offering herself. Her pleasure was obvious in her open stance and her curving lips. She wanted his cuffs.

  He ran his finger around the insides to ensure they weren’t too tight, then rose and checked the setup at the edge of his patio. Chains dangled from rings he’d installed in the support beam. Two more chains lay at the base of the four-by-four posts. Ready.

  Was Kimberly? Her breathing had sped up, and she was biting her lip. But she nodded firmly. “I’m ready, Master.”

  He’d always known she’d break his heart. His hand slipped down under the hem of her sundress and between her legs. Small panties, already damp. Her muscles were tensed with anxiety, but her pussy showed her arousal. Maybe, maybe she could do this. His hopes flared. “Remove your clothing.”

  Her breath hitched, and a flush grew in her cheeks. But she pulled the sundress over her head in one smooth move. The sight of her breasts—yes, fuller than before—sent a bolt of lust through him.

  She pushed down her tiny panties—the ruffles matched the ones on the dress, he noticed appreciatively.

  “Are you still ready?”

  “Yes, Master.” Her lips formed around the word as if she liked the taste of it in her mouth, and he was grateful she hadn’t hated it like she had the word slave—he enjoyed very much the sound of his title when she said it.

  Mine. His heart uttered the word again and again. Submitting to him. Nothing could give a dom more of a rush in a scene. In life? Nothing filled a dom’s heart so fully.

  Unable to resist, he pulled her against him, curved his fingers around her nape, and plundered her sweet lips. He ran his hand over her ass, massaging the roundness, still cool, but soon to be glowing with heat.

  He held her eyes, rejoicing to see them so clear and free of fear. “I love you, gatita.”

  Her heart melted right down into a puddle. Never, ever would she tire of hearing that. “I love you, Master.”

  When she finally looked away from him, she saw the tables and chairs on the patio had been moved to form a semicircle, leaving a large open area. For a whip.

  “Master Raoul.” Z stood a few feet away. His dark gray eyes held hers as he said, “Tell your submissive what you wish to use so she might bring you the proper tools.”

  Tools? Things he’d use on her. To hurt her… She wrenched her gaze away and realized people had congregated around the patio. Watching. Like at an exhibit or a slavers’ stage. Her horrified gaze fell on Gabi.

  Gabi jerked her chin up and then deliberately made a fist, arcing it in the tugboat hand signal for full speed ahead.

  Kim blinked. Well.

  Next to her hard-faced dom, Beth had her hands clasped together, and her lips moved, You can do it.

  Andrea gave her a firm nod of encouragement.

  Kari’s eyes had tears in them, but she waggled a baby monitor emphatically and mouthed, “Yes. Do it.”

  Jessica was alternating glaring at Z and nodding vigorously at Kim.

  Not an exhibit. I have my own set of cheerleaders.

  “I think you agreed on whips?” Z asked, as if deliberately rubbing her fears raw.

  A shudder ran through her, but she forced steel into her spine. I fought the Overseer and Greville and won. Can I be less brave in going after my dreams?

  Master R’s face held only fury as he stared at Z, but then he sighed and smiled. “Remind me to hurt Z after this.”

  Master R is on my side. He always is. But she could…almost…understand the pressure Z was putting on her. This was her opportunity to prove herself to them both, and Master Z would make it a proper test. She raised her chin. “Can Master describe his wishes?”

  His hand touched her cheek gently, his gaze intensifying, as if he assessed her determination, and his lips curved with approval. “My gatita makes me proud.”

  God, everything in her melted, and she felt as if she’d drown in his eyes.

  Master R thought a minute. “I want you to bring me the flogger with a faint yellow stripe on the handle, a crop—one with soft leather—and the bullwhip on the leftmost side. You will do this to please me, Kimberly.”

  The bullwhip. Her mouth was too dry, so she gave him a jerky nod and walked off the patio. Her legs didn’t seem to belong to her, but they were moving, and that was all she could ask.

  The dungeon was cool. Quiet. And, oddly, held no fears, just memories of Master R: Leaning against a wall and counting with his fingers as she walked around the room. Massaging her on the bondage table. “You’re not going to fall into pieces if I touch your breasts.”

  He’d led her out of panic each time—her wish to please him would work that magic again. It must.

  The crop was easy and she picked one with the softest leather. The flogger he’d actually teased her with once and let her play with. The bullwhip…

  She got near and couldn’t touch it. Had to circle to get close. Another circle. Did he even know how to use a whip? What if he—No, this was Master R. If he used something, he’d be superb. She’d never seen him practice though.

  That was scary. During the next detour, she frowned at the empty space on one side of the room. She’d never wondered why it was there. A newspaper was clamped chest-high on the wall, thin strips of it dangling like streamers. She shivered. Maybe he did practice.

  Another circle.

  Enough stalling. I will do this. She brought up in her memory the approval on Master R’s face. “You will do this to please me.” The need to see that approval again grew, slowly outweighing her fear.

  Her fingers closed on the whip, and she whispered a vow to herself. “I’m going to learn to use this damned thing. Rip up some newspapers myself. See if I don’t.” Her hand tightened on the leather.

  As she stepped out onto the patio in the bright sun, she saw Master R in the middle. He’d taken his shirt off to get ready for the scene, obviously never doubting her courage. The sight of the contoured muscles on his chest and arms made her stop. So powerful. She smiled, remembering when she’d said that to him. He’d laughed and picked her up so, so easily, murmuring into her hair, “The better to hold you with.”

  A thin pink ridge ran across his left ribs where Greville’s knife had cut, an atrocity on his beautiful, tan skin, and anger flared in her. Then she huffed a laugh, glancing down at her own scar. They were definitely a matched set now.

  The people around the patio went completely silent as she crossed to him. She knelt at his feet. “I brought your tools as you asked, Master.”

  “You did very, very well.” He took everything from her, setting it all on the ground off to one side. His stride was as she’d remembered in her dreams—unhurried, steady, and solid.

  With an easy yank, he lifted her to her feet, then rested his hands on her shoulders, massaging lightly. “You will take everything I give you today,” he said, holding her gaze. His eyes were filled with a dark promise of pain and pleasure.

  A thrill of anticipation went through her. He’d never pushed her in the dungeon, but now, now his eyes promised he would today. Oh God. “I will, Master.” It was a vow for both of them. I will.

  He guided her under the chains, facing her toward the ocean and away from the audience. After restraining her arms over her head, he secured her legs apart, opening them widely, before tightening the chains to her arms. He circled her slowly, looking her over, his gaze like a caress on her bare skin. He stopped in front of her, cupping her chin in his palm. “I’ve dreamed of seeing you here, like th
is,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Open to me, wanting what I can give you.”

  “I want that,” she whispered, every cell in her needing to please him. And she’d take whatever he asked so he’d be proud, would know how much she loved him. The need to give, to accept, filled her.

  He kissed her, his tongue taking her, his lips demanding but so, so sweet. When he lifted his head, her breath came thick and hot. Obviously someone had turned the humidity up on the patio.

  His hand glided over her shoulder, then her back, as he walked around her, and then lower: her bottom, her legs…

  When he stroked up her inner thighs, she jerked.

  “Be still, gatita.” Warm hands. Firm touch.

  Just like her dreams. She realized her pussy was wet with her arousal.

  “Very nice, Kimberly. I like this.” His fingers slid through her folds, making her shiver. The murmur of conversation came to her, then disappeared under the rush of heat as his fingers pressed her labia open and ran over her clit. She bit her lip as electricity sizzled through her.

  He teased her clit and then eased a finger inside her and out.

  Legs wide apart, she was exposed to anything he wanted to do, and…it was the most erotic thing she’d ever felt in her life, knowing she’d willingly given him the power.

  He rose to his feet.

  Oh no. Her thoughts stuttered at the memory of the tools. “Wait.”

  The smack on her ass stung. “Who?”

  “Master R. Master, what are you going to do?”

  “Whatever I want to, sumisita mía.” His voice wasn’t mean, just that firmness that sent quivers into her stomach and more wetness between her legs.

  He chuckled and pressed his body against hers from behind, his erection pushing on her buttocks, his muscular chest heating her back, his arms surrounding her. “Pretty gatita, are you ready?” His fingers tweaked her nipples, and his touch sent streaks of pain straight down to her clit.

  He gathered her hair and moved it forward over her shoulder. Baring her back. She tensed, but he only ran his hands up and down, waking her skin, making her breasts sway.